


Work Away My Fear

by flinchflower



Series: The 50kinkyways [48]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, Yogic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-07
Updated: 2011-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:21:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 47: Yogic sex.  Technically a sequel to #39 and #40, but can stand alone.  Sam takes his punishment for the screwup in the labyrinth hunt like a man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work Away My Fear

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed the characters originally so I could use them as a writing exercise, to see how close I could get the characterization. Then I was corrupted by porn. And kink. Here’s a side of kink. This is simply for practice, not publication or profit. I’m in the hole by about 30 grand, if you’d like to seize my debt as punishment. AU in that I refuse to admit the death of John Winchester.

John gives his youngest boy a grim smile. “Keep going, son.”

Sam is in disbelief. He’s on mile fifteen of the laps John is making him run, with a set of pushups, crunches and pull-ups in between each mile, not to mention another round of sparring with either John or Dean. His ass is on fire from the spankings John hands out each time Sam finds himself disabled. He is about to die. He shuffles into a half-hearted run, knowing he’s gonna have to walk part of this one,then get spanked again, and lets his thoughts drift. He’s gone from anger to frustration to horror to regret and back around the loop again several times today as he pushes through the punishment training. The mile takes forever, and he stumbles up, drops to his knees to start the set of pushups, and feels John grab the collar of his shirt –he can’t help it, he cringes. Never has he seen his own inadequacies so clearly as now.

John aches for the boy, he really does. But Sam’s got to learn one way or the other to pay attention to the hunt, to follow orders, to stay alert.

“Shower,” he barks at the boy, and watches Sam collide with the doorframe on the way in – the kid is so tired he can’t see straight. He’s there when Sam emerges from the bathroom, to pick up the first aid kit and haul the kid out to the kitchen table. He barks an order at Sam to repeat wound care responsibilities, and recite the steps in caring for a cut, spanking the boy again when he forgets to list “wound disclosure” at the top of the list. There are tears running down Sam’s face now, and John can’t take much more of this himself. He’s surprised it took this many days to pull out the tears. He pushes the kid down into one of the kitchen chairs, and watches as Sam shivers at the pain of the hard wood of the chair on his well-spanked bottom.

Dean’s cleaned up quickly, and takes the kit from Sam, dresses the cut on Sam’s arm, puts the last round of antibiotics in front of him. Sam is unashamedly crying now, something that he and John have been waiting for all week, through the training. Dean turns to put the kit away, and finds himself with an armful of younger brother.

Sam chokes out the words between the sobs. “I’m so sorry… I won’t disobey again, I’ll pay attention, Dean, I’m sorry.”

“Took you long enough, bud.” Sam is crying hard enough that Dean’s worried for him, and he shifts in place, waiting for John to come back from the shower. He meets John’s eyes, holding them for a long time, and John paces in, takes hold of Sam, pulling him away from Dean. His youngest son won’t meet his eyes, and John worries for a moment that they finally went too far.

“Let’s go sit down, Samuel,” he says quietly, and hearing Sam choke out the “yessir” reassures him. He sits the boy down on the couch, and takes a seat on the coffee table in front of him, Dean standing behind him.

“You understand what we’ve been doing, for the last three days, Sam? With the training, and the self defense, and you reciting every EMT lesson and hunting lesson I ever taught you?”

“Yessir – I’m so sorry, I just…”

“I know, Sam,” he says gently. “But you need to raise objections before a hunt, not in the middle of it, and unless you find yourself in a position where your authority outweighs either of ours, you need to keep your mouth to yourself and your actions within acknowledged parameters. You know why we put you through this? You think this has been easy for either of us?”

Sam looks up, shocked at that thought.

“We did it, Sam, because we are not fucking losing you on a hunt just because you got headstrong and did something stupid. I’m not talking about accidents – that happens, you know that – but deliberate… Don’t make me put you through this again, Sam. You want a reminder of how any of that works, you speak up, you tell me what your doubting, tell your brother what you’re thinking. Got that?”

“Yessir.” Sam’s calmer now, it’s making sense, through the haze of tears and exhaustion.

John kneels in front of him, pulls his boy into his arms. “I love you, Sammy. Don’t forget that.” When the spate of tears that causes has eased, his father stands him up, hands him to Dean. “I’m out for a few hours. I expect he’ll be sleeping when I get back.”

Dean nods, and leads the boy out to the bedroom. He’s worried that Sam’s tears haven’t stopped, and pulls the kid in close.

“I love you too, baby.” Sam only cries harder, and Dean presses gentle kisses in, slipping his hands under the kid’s shirt, hoping to distract him. It’s enough, and a half hour later the tears and sobbing are gone, and the kisses are almost desperate. “You should rest, Sam.” The kid only clings harder, and whispers a confession to his brother that makes the older boy chuckle. “Sammy, you’re way to tired for that, you’d never be able to stay on your hands and knees, or even keep your legs spread for me.”

Sam begs harder though, and Dean helps him slide into one of the yoga stretches they learned, trying to ignore the fact that it’s called child pose. He preps him with gentle fingers and more silent kisses, and then simply slides his hard cock into the boy, and stays there, feeling their heartbeats through the contact. His forehead rests on Sam’s broad back, and the boy’s fingers are interlaced with his. Slowly, their heartbeats, their breath, synchronize into one, and then the orgasms build, slow at first, then ramping up into explosiveness, without either one of them moving a muscle. They stay there for a long time, and then Dean realizes the boy’s feet are getting cold, the circulation hampered, and he carefully rolls him over, takes him into his arms.

“Just full of good ideas, aren’t you.”

“Not always,” comes the guilty whisper.

Dean kisses away Sam’s regret, and talks him into the healing that needs to take place, the easing of the regret into thoughtfulness, the soothing of resentment into acceptance. He reassures his lover quietly, and the young man drops into exhausted sleep, Dean holding him close. They’re still that way when John looks in hours later, and Sam stirs at his fathers light footsteps.

“I’m up, sir, be out in a minute,” he mumbles, focusing on the fact that John’s likely not done with the training punishment. Instead, John smoothes the ruffled hair, tells him quietly that he’s fine. The wide green eyes examine John’s, and he takes the boy into his own arms.

“Don’t make me do that again, son.”

“Dad.” Everything his son wants to say is in the word, the way the boy clings to him. Dean’s arms wrap around Sam, and John extends his own to hold both his boys.

“I’ll do anything to keep you safe, boys. I love you.”

He leans back against the headboard, boys cradled against his chest, one responsible and grown up and aching inside, the other young and learning and just as sad, and thinks to himself that his next job is to ease their pain, that the supernatural can wait for a while.


End file.
